Work Text:
And I, never should have gave my heart
Should've never let you in my life
Gave my heart and soul and mind
And I, never thought that we'd be this way…
You said you'd never leave me on my own
You said you'd never leave me all alone
—You Said, Mona Lisa
After [plum] and [pink] defeat the witch that used to be [teal], [pink] weeps.
She has no right to, [plum] thinks bitterly. Regret is a sentiment better suited to the useless and the dead. [plum] may hate [pink] as much as she wants—she can blame [pink] from [teal]’s fate and wish [teal] was here in [pink]’s stead to her heart’s content—but she must never, never wish [pink] is dead. [teal] chose [pink] over herself and [plum] both, wanted [pink] to live even if it doomed the two of them. [plum] can never dishonour her friend by disrespecting her sacrifice like that.
“This was a mistake,” [pink] says, “I never should’ve—”
[pink] smothers her words with a choked-off sob. It is just as well—how is she supposed to fill in the rest of her sentence? I never should’ve made a deal with Kyubey, I never should’ve grown close to other magical girls, I never should’ve shut myself off the way I did.
“You never should’ve.” [plum] agrees, grief sharpening her harsh edges into blades. “It shouldn’t have been [teal]. It should’ve been you.”
On that, at least, they can agree.
But.
The thing is, [plum] doesn’t regret her contract with the Incubator.
In the future she was originally fated to, [plum]’s brother died to a warehouse fire. Her parents drowned in grief, determined to join him in death, and they dragged [plum] down with them.
Cold and starving in an alley, tucked between two garbage bags for warmth—that was how it found her. Is it any wonder she made the Wish she did?
I Wish the fire at the warehouse my brother worked never happened.
The past and the future are inseparable. By rewriting her future, [plum] also rewrote her past.
[plum] has her loving family back now. She has a warm place to sleep, and no fear of ever going to bed hungry. But somehow, her memories of that ill-fated timeline still lingers, like an infection rotting the roots of a tree.
Her mother cooks rich, delicious meals, piling the dishes in front of [plum]. But all [plum] can see is the faded façade of her, staring at a blank wall every hour of the day, refusing to touch the food [plum] cooked—in a future that never existed.
Her father pats [plum]’s head every morning before work, and every evening when he returns home—as if she is still a child, his most precious darling in the world. But [plum] looks at him, and can only think of the father who never came home—who wasted away in bars mourning his dead son, only leaving when the bar owners personally kicked him out.
Her brother is as bright and cheerful as the shining memories [plum] used to lose herself in, on the coldest winter nights. But now—now those dreamlike memories have lost their allure. [plum] cannot look into her brother’s eyes without remembering how they had become blank in death—cannot bear his smile without recalling how to fire had burnt away its warmth.
[plum] might have rewritten her past, but she can never return to the innocent girl her family still thinks she is.
And yet.
Despite everything, [plum] does not regret her Wish. She might be unable to appreciate her family’s warmth anymore—separated by the icy wall of her Wish as they are—but at least she has a warm place to stay. At least she never has to worry about where her next meal is coming from. At least her family can be happy again, even if she can never be.
Even now, knowing how things must end…
Transforming into a witch must be painful. (a thought she tries not to linger on, lest she dwell too much upon [teal]’s final moments) Still, it is a swifter death than one by starving in the streets.
Regret is a sentiment better suited to the useless and the dead. [plum] has made her choice, a future and a timeline ago. For better or for worse, she will live and die by her choice, and she will not regret it.
That is what sets her apart from the rest of Kyubey’s victims. No matter the consequences, even knowing what she does now, [plum] would’ve still made her Wish with the Incubator.
Kyubey came upon [plum] in a dark alley.
The details of how she got there are unclear, blurred by either time or the aftereffects of her Wish. But [plum] remembers two things with extreme clarity—first, the cold that permeated her very bones, radiating from the unforgiving concrete ground in a way that doesn’t seem solely physical, leaving her with a gnawing hunger that transcends a mere desire for food.
Second, the fury that had engulfed her heart like a funeral pyre, the only thing that kept her going most days. She would’ve set the world on fire to regain a shred of the warmth her family once provided her—isn’t it a miracle that her Wish wasn’t one of revenge?
she is standing in a burning house, plum flames eating away at the fragile wooden shell. purple sparks flicker off the timber roof, falling upon her skin.
but the fire doesn’t scorch her, no—it warms her from within, thaws the heart she has long frozen to protect herself from her fragmenting family. even as the flames crumble upon her skin, it morphs, flickering into silken cloth.
the house is an empty shell, a false exterior seeking to imprison her. her true home is the flamenco that now clothes her. her strength lies in the plum gem pinned to her ponytail—a testament of her iron-clad will. her anger at this false home—this false family—manifests in the raging fire around her, burning her cage and setting her free. she will not be powerless anymore, forced to watch everyone she loves leave her behind.
the wall caves. a supporting beam comes tumbling down. she catches the beam with one hand, azure eyes alight. the piece of wood burns into cinders at her command, leaving behind a flamethrower mounted onto her arm, red like the fire engines that didn’t arrive on time to save her brother. with this, she is taking her fate into her hands this time.
with this, she will never be helpless anymore.
[plum] returns to the beginning.
She wakes up in her childhood bed, the morning after the warehouse fire should’ve happened. [plum] immediately knows her Wish worked as intended—because it is her brother’s smiling face that rouses her from sleep, her mother’s cooking that wafts through the open kitchen door, and her father’s singing that echoes through the apartment as he gets ready for work.
[plum] swallows down the nausea that bubbles through her, shaking off the lingering cold in her bones as she stands up. The void-like hunger that had remained with her like a stalker is gone now, but [plum] still scarfs down her breakfast omelette like it is the last meal she will ever enjoy. Her mother raises an eyebrow at [plum]’s voracious appetite, but quietly begins making a second serving for her.
On [plum]’s middle finger, a brand-new ring gleams. The nail of that same finger is now decorated by the illustration of a small plume of flames. None of her family comments on [plum]’s new accessories.
[plum] takes to following her parents to work, unable to stand the silence of their apartment (haunting her like a grave) (too much like the state of their home after [plum]’s brother died). It is at the mansion they are hired as servants that s̷̥͕͓͊͑t̵̡̻̙̱̄̚ă̴̞͙͎t̶̨̋́i̴̺͗ͅc̸̗̲͓̯̣̿͊ builds in the back of [plum]’s head, with far more intensity than the sensation that heralds the presence of a labyrinth. Her soul gem pulses with warmth, as if crying out in excitement, and—
Ah. There is another magical girl in this mansion.
[plum] turns, and meets the gaze of the young mistress of the household. On [teal]’s middle finger is a gleaming band of silver and teal.
she stands atop a tranquil lake, its teal surface smooth like a mirror pane. white fog rolls in from all directions, pressing down on her skin and stuffing her lungs with unbearable moisture.
a figure steps out from the mist, a young child with wavy blonde hair and crystal teal eyes. the child smiles—a smile of innocence. it is a smile she remembers from hazy childhood days, when the worst conceivable that could happen was a missed outing due to the bad weather.
her younger self offers her hand, and, compelled by a force stronger than her rational mind, she has no choice but to accept. she steps into a familiar waltz with her childhood innocence, twirling and pirouetting across the tranquil lake. the fog strips away her garments as she dances, replacing it with cloth woven in the color of the lake. her shoes vanish between one step and the next, to be replaced as she steps forward into flat that sprang straight from the water.
she lifts the child into the air, and her younger self smiles, young and excited and innocent, but only for a moment—before the child is drawn into the suffocating fog once more. she is left holding nothing but an empty dress—a dress that had been torn to shreds that day she faced her first witch. the dress bursts into a million sparks, scattering above her to coalesce as a gem in her hair, until that piece of nostalgia, too, is taken from her.
she reaches for her childhood innocence, as she always does, even knowing it will be in vain. the only thing she can ever pull out of the unforgiving mist is a quarterstaff, its surface white like a mockery of the innocence she lost that day.
the Waltz of Innocence is over. her childhood had been swallowed by the fog that day she made her Wish, never to be recovered. all she can do is move forward, clear the fog obscuring her future path, and live her life to the best of her ability before she joins her younger self beyond the fog.
after all, everyone grows up someday.
The young mistress must’ve been very lonely, because she immediately invites [plum] to go on witch hunts with her.
…was companionship always this easy—this warm? [plum] never thought she would become friends with [teal]. They have barely met in passing, in the future-that-will-never-be.
But somehow, spending time with [teal] comes more naturally than being surrounded by the family she used her Wish on. [teal] enthusiastically drags [plum] across the mansion grounds and throughout town, showing her all the best spots to look for labyrinths. After successful witch hunts where they split the spoils between them, [teal] always treats [plum] to a meal in town.
([plum] begins to look forward to these occasions) (and not only for the food)
(she does not notice the sad, indulgent smile [teal] gifts her whenever she watches [plum] scarf down food like she is still a starving girl)
[teal] is so sweet, so innocent, so kind. If [plum] were a worse person than she already is, it would’ve been so easy to take advantage of [teal]’s kindness, to worm her way into [teal]’s wealth and bleed it dry. That’s why [plum] can never leave [teal]. Her generosity is a gift, one [plum] intends to repay in kind.
She spends more time around [teal] than among her own family.
There is an entire section of [plum]’s heart dedicated specifically to [teal], a home and a shrine and a love letter all in one. [plum] realises this one day, in an ice cream shop after a particularly difficult witch fight.
This isn’t the first time they visited this particular shop, but it is the first occasion at this hour—dusk, with the golden sunlight streaming through the glass windows at just the right angle to set [teal]’s sweat-soaked blonde hair alight. [teal] is devouring her pistachio ice cream like a starving man—and after the battle they just went through, she might as well be. There is a smear of green ice cream on the tip of [teal]’s nose, and [plum]’s own experience with starvation makes her want to lick [teal]’s nose clean for fear of wasting food.
Something about this image—[teal], the sunlight, the pistachio ice cream and [plum]’s own blackberry sorbet, the weary peace that lingers in the air after every battle like dust motes, [teal]—hits [plum] right in the chest. She isn’t sure what it is that makes her open her mouth, but she does, and she speaks instead of spooning more sorbet into her mouth. “[teal], have I ever told you about my Wish?”
[teal] blinks, lifting her head. Slowly, she puts down her spoon, and wipes the ice cream from her face with a napkin—much to [plum]’s disappointment (what a waste of perfectly good food). “No, you haven’t.” she replies solemnly. Then, knowing what [plum] is offering, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, [plum].”
[plum] shakes her head. For some reason that is currently beyond her, she does want to. “My brother died in a warehouse fire.”
[teal] creases her brows. “But I’ve met your brother. He’s alive and well.”
[plum] nods. “There is no warehouse fire, but there was one. My Wish was that the fire never happened—that my brother never died.”
“Oh.” [teal] gasps. “That’s such a selfless Wish. I’m proud of you, [plum].”
[plum] understands [teal]’s surprise. It is common knowledge that most magical girls Wish for good fortune—for power and wealth and all the most traditional boons in fairytales. She can leave it at that—she should leave it at that, let [teal]’s opinion of her be better than she really is. Except that isn’t an option—that has never been an option for the same reason [plum] suddenly wanted to explain her Wish to [teal].
“No,” [plum] says, then offers herself a moment to steel her nerves by shoving a spoonful of sorbet into her mouth. [plum] swallows, and continues, “it really wasn’t.” she fiddles with her spoon anxiously, “After my brother died, my parents fell apart. My mum wasted away in the apartment, refusing to even eat. And my dad didn’t help matters—he stopped going to work, and threw away our remaining savings for alcohol. I tried to help by working odd jobs, but…” she clenches the handle of her spoon, “In the end, we—I lost everything. My parents got fired, we were kicked out of the apartment, and then my parents died in the streets. I…” [plum] swallows, “I was alone. Kyubey found me in an alley, and…it all started with my brother’s death, didn’t it? As long as he is still alive, none of my misfortunes would’ve occurred. So I Wished my brother back to life, and—I was right.”
A warm palm wraps around her own, squeezing gently. [teal]’s voice is quiet as she says, “There’s nothing selfish about wanting a better life.”
[plum] snorts doubtfully. Her Wish was a selfish one, and she knows it—not that it bothers her much. There’s nothing wrong with selfishness, not if it means the difference between death and survival.
“Besides,” [teal] continues, “Your Wish was much more thought out than mine.”
[plum]’s eyes widen. When she shared her Wish, she didn’t think… “You don’t have to tell me! Just because I shared my Wish doesn’t mean—”
[teal] shakes her head. She squeezes [plum]’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about talking to you about it before, you know. But you beat me to it.”
[plum] nods shakily, feeling dizzy at the amount of trust [teal] is showing her. Sharing her own Wish was much less daunting than listening about someone else’s.
[teal] licks her lips. “Once upon a time, there was a very foggy weekend. My parents had been away at a conference for two weeks by then, and when they returned, they promised to make up for their absence by driving to town for the weekend—overnight, just the three of us. I was so excited. But then weekend rolled around, and the weather was so bad that my dad straight up cancelled the trip. I was furious, obviously—threw a tantrum and all that.” she giggles slightly, rubbing her cheeks as if that will make the blush go away, “My mum sent me to my room straight after dinner—and then I found Kyubey sitting on my bed.”
[teal] sighs, “I Wished the fog would go away. My parents felt bad about breaking my heart the following morning, and once it became clear the sky has miraculously cleared overnight, I got the trip I wanted. But…” it wasn’t worth it. “It was such a pointless, short-sighted Wish.”
“You…” [plum] hesitates. Comforting someone isn’t exactly part of her skillset, but that expression on [teal]’s face makes something in [plum]’s chest twinge. “You were just a kid. You didn’t know any better.” she finally settles on.
[teal] nods ruefully, “I didn’t.” But I should’ve. “I hate the fog, you know.”
“But your—” But your magical talent is summoning fogs. [plum] bites her tongue just in time. There’s no point in driving in the knife further.
[teal] nods helplessly, shrugging. “It wasn’t all bad, after I made the Wish. I was pretty good at fighting, even without any guidance. I basically have a portable smokescreen, and since I can see through all fogs—magical or otherwise—I could do sneak attacks on witches pretty effectively. But I ran into a witch that didn’t rely on sight eventually, and I was—grievously wounded.”
[plum] hitches her breath. “You—” She’s alive. [teal] is alive, and holding my hand, warm and breathing and she didn’t die before she could even meet me—
[teal] squeezes her hand in reassurance, and [plum] frowns. It feels all wrong, [teal] shouldn’t be comforting [plum] while she’s reliving her own sordid history, it should be the other way around—but [teal] continues before [plum] can protest otherwise. “I was saved by another magical girl. My mentor never told me about her Wish, but she can brew potions to any effect—poison and strength augmentation and even healing potions—anything she can dream of, she can conjure, and my mentor was a very creative woman.”
[teal] smiles wistfully, “She saved my life by feeding me a healing potion. Then, she stuck around to teach me everything she knows—fighting techniques and knowledge about past magical girls, even how to cook. It was…you know I was homeschooled, and at that age my parents’ apprentices were all older than I am. I never had such a close friend before. And I thought…if things could remain like this forever, I will never regret my Wish.” her lips curl in a bittersweet smile, and it is immediately obvious that things did not, in fact, remain that way forever.
“What…what happened to her?” [plum] breathes, anticipating and fearing the answer in equal measure. There are only so many reasons for one magical girl to leave another’s life—and few of them end well.
[teal]’s smile falters. “She left town.” she replies simply. “She had made it her life’s mission to help as many magical girls as possible, and once she was certain I can survive on my own, it was time to move on.”
“She—she what?” [plum] decides she hates [teal]’s mentor, never mind that [teal] never would’ve lived long enough to meet [plum] without her. Who could’ve thought to leave [teal]—and of her own volition—
“I was so lonely after she left, you know.” [teal] whispers. Her grip on [plum]’s hand tightens. “I’m so happy I eventually met you.”
“[teal], listen to me.” [plum] says firmly. Placing her spoon back in the bowl of melting sorbet, she reaches across the table to cover [teal]’s hands with her remaining one. “I will never leave you, okay? No matter what. I promise.” Not like your mentor did.
[teal] smiles, warm like the sunlight streaming through the window. “I know. And I’ll never leave you too.” Not like your family did.
In the labyrinth of a witch composed of quicksand, they rescue a pink magical girl.
she is doodling on a piece of scrap paper, unable to afford anything better. this is how it always starts—in poverty.
a blink, and her pencil streaks glow pink. she tumbles, forward, through her sketch into a dimension of charcoal and paint. grey paints a halter-neck dress upon her body, pink an apron around her waist. flecks of pigments splash across her body, leaving behind intricate patterns woven into her dress. weight gathers in her apron’s pocket as a sketchbook forms. strokes of charcoal create a beret upon her head, and a pink gem winds its way around her bicep.
she steps out of the dimension of Creativity, through an oil paint portrait worth more than she will ever be able to afford. she finds herself in a grand mansion, in the heart of its very own art gallery, with wealth and art everywhere the eye can see. it is a Wish come true, everything she has ever dreamed of but never expected.
she beams. it takes a miracle to pull oneself out of poverty with their own bare hands—but a miracle is what she has asked for and received.
isn’t she lucky to be where she is today?
“Let’s hunt together,” [teal] offers, far too kind-hearted for her own good. “It’s always better to have somebody watch your back.”
[pink] agrees quickly. She would be stupid not to—[plum] might’ve beaten [pink] up if she had the gall to reject [teal]’s generous offer.
And yet—
(intruder intruder INTRUDER)
[plum]’s heart refuses [pink] like her immune system rejects a viral infection.
“Why did you have to invite her?” [plum] scowls, crossing her arms. “We were doing just fine before we met [pink].”
A complicated expression flashes across [teal]’s face. “You…” she closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, “After my mentor left town, and before I met you, I was so lonely.” [teal] confesses quietly. “[pink] must’ve been too.” she glances up, teal eyes shining with hope. “That’s why we have to make friends with her! [plum], please?”
[plum]’s frustration wavers.
INTRUDER. her brain insists, that girl will steal your first and only friend from you.
But—
But.
[teal]’s smile is bright.
For her sake, [plum] will try to get along with [pink].
[plum] promises to get along with [pink], and they do.
Once her annoyance INTRUDER ebbs, [plum] discovers [pink] to be a creative and quick-witted soul. She always comes up with the wildest plans—all of which somehow succeed. [pink] has the same sense of humour as [plum], and they spend the better part of an afternoon designing a prank for [plum]’s brother.
[plum] grows to trust [pink], until eventually she shares her Wish with [pink]. In return, [pink] speaks of a Wish to rewrite her future into riches, from orphan to artist—and it’s very similar to [plum]’s own selfish Wish, isn’t it? They’re more alike than they seem.
[teal] suggests they practice their fighting skills together, and repurposes a meadow in the vast mansion grounds for that exact intention. [pink] is frequently tied to the mansion due to her duties as an apprentice of [teal]’s father, so they can’t venture into town as often. The three end up spending most of their free time in that secluded meadow, and while [plum] misses those quiet afternoons in town with just her and [teal]…
There’s something incredibly precious about this, as well.
But then—
Somehow, in the bliss of friendship and love, [plum] forgot the very simple lesson her first life taught her.
Nothing lasts forever, not even love.
[pink] gets lost in her studies. Determined to produce a magnum opus like no other (desperate to please her mentor and affirm her place in the household) (believing she is a fake, understanding all her fortunes stem from a Wish not her own hard work) (doesn’t [plum] know the feeling), she secludes herself in the workshop, refusing to emerge even to eat or clean her soul gem.
She’s going to work herself into an early grave, [plum] thinks.
I won’t let her, [teal] decides.
[plum] and [teal] hunt, like they always do. But with [pink] as dead weight—a cuckoo in their nest and an extra mouth to feed, it’s…hard.
In the aftermath of a battle with a witch made of ceramic shards, [teal] ends up with a large gash running down her back. [plum] arms are littered with nicks and scratches, battle wounds from protecting [teal] after the witch embedded a piece of ceramic into her back.
[plum] watches as [teal]’s wound bleeds sluggishly, the crimson a painful contrast against the blue-green of her dress. The witch’s ceramic weapon dissipated when [plum] landed the finishing blow, but [teal]’s freely bleeding gash looks even more terrifying without the ceramic shard to block the wound.
[plum] presses her hands to [teal]’s back, uncaring of the gashes on her own arms. [teal]’s wound glows purple in tandem to [plum]’s hands, and slowly begins to knit itself back together.
[teal] frowns, pressing the grief seed to [plum]’s soul gem before she cleanses her own. “I could’ve healed it myself, you know.” she scolds.
[plum] scowls. She plucks the grief seed from [teal]’s hand (fully used, after that terrifying battle and [plum]’s healing trick), tossing it to Kyubey. “We can’t keep doing this.”
[teal] blinks, glancing up. Kyubey jumps onto her lap, the grief seed disappearing into the oval on their back. [teal] pets their head absently. “What are you talking about, [plum]?”
[plum] huffs in frustration. [teal] isn’t doing this on purpose, the idea of not helping [pink] likely never crossed her mind, but she still...why does [plum] have to be the one to point out the obvious? This is making her look like the villain. “This. Hunting more witches, to get enough grief seeds for [pink]. We were fine hunting this many witches before because [pink] was with us, and we could coast by most battles with minimal magic used. But now—” she grits her teeth, “—now that [pink] left, every fight drags more time and magic from us. This isn’t sustainable, [teal]! We’re dragging ourselves too thin, trying to cover for that—that girl. We have to conserve our magic, choose our battles and fight less witches, or we’ll end up losing our magic far soon than [pink] will.”
[teal] purses her lips. “This is just temporary. [pink] will return to hunt with us, as soon as she’s finished with my father’s art exhibition—”
[plum] cuts [teal] off with a scoff, and doesn’t allow herself to feel bad about it. “Temporary—it’s been nearly two months! And the art exhibition is still a month away! [teal], we can’t last another month—hasn’t this battle told you that much?” she gestures at [teal]’s back, the large gash on her dress still stained crimson at the edges, “That—that careless mistake. It never would’ve happened if [pink] was—” [plum] throat bobs, choking on her own words. “If [pink] was—was—that wound. The ceramic shard would’ve pierced your heart if it had been off by a few centimetres!”
You could’ve died, [plum] doesn’t say. I’m scared you’d leave me, just like [pink] left us.
You promised. You promised you’d never leave me. Please don’t make yourself out to be a liar, I beg you.
[teal]’s frown wavers. “But we can’t just leave [pink] be! If she loses her magic because she doesn’t have enough grief seeds, and I could’ve done something to save her…I’ll—I—” she swallows, “I just can’t.”
“But—she already left! If [pink] loses her magic thanks to her own actions, that’s her fault. We shouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of [pink]’s decisions. We’re barely taking care of ourselves as things are, how are we supposed to take care of dead weight!?”
Frustration flashes across [teal]’s face. She closes her eyes, inhaling sharply. Kyubey nuzzles into her palm, as if to provide comfort.
When [teal] reopens her eyes, they are filled with diamond-like hope. “Please—bear with it. For just a little longer. [pink] isn’t doing this on purpose—maybe if I talk to her, try to get her to see the reality of the situation…[pink] needs a break from her workshop anyway.” she smiles at [plum], determined, “We’ll work through this. Together. That’s what friends do.”
Have faith, [plum]. [teal] doesn’t say. Won’t you just take a chance with your heart?
[plum] looks into her first and not anymore only friend’s eyes, glimmering will love and cruel hope.
Against every single one of her instincts, [plum] does not leave.
([teal], don’t you know I already have?)
True to her word, [teal] persuades [pink] out of her workshop. The autumn breeze dances in their hair as they wind down the path they used to take daily, to that burnt meadow in the mansion grounds they made their own.
[plum] missed this—missed [pink]. She hasn’t been to that meadow since [pink] secluded herself in her workshop, for the same reason she cannot bear to remain in her family’s apartment alone.
But between one step and the next, the despair already present in [teal]’s soul gem reaches a cresting point. It is [teal]’s soul gem that shatters—the eggshell from which a witch emerges—but [plum] feels her soul break all the same.
(this was supposed to be one last chance to repair her fracturing relationship with [pink])
(instead—)
(instead it became the straw that broke the camel’s back)
It isn’t that [plum] doesn’t understand why. It’s because [plum] understands that she hates [pink] as much as she does.
(anything for a secure future—isn’t that exactly what [plum] did?)
[plum] chases [pink] away, because it is easier to pin the blame on someone physical than the intangible pulse of the universe. She doesn’t return to the mansion, the heavy blanket of the household’s grief suffocating her. She leaves her apartment—leaves the family she spent her only Wish on (but they haven’t felt like family since her brother died in the fire-that-never-happened) (for a while she thought [teal] and [pink] might become her family instead) (but that is all for nought now)—and returns to the streets where she should’ve belonged all along.
It's cold and dark in the alley, despite the flames [plum] can now summon with a flick of her fingers.
There is a constant void in her abdomen, even though she no longer needs to eat with her body sustained by magic alone.
[plum] tucks herself between two garbage bags—hiding not from the cold but from her own treasonous thoughts and traitorous body, one of which is wondering how [pink] is faring (badly, she doesn’t hopes) while the other longs for the warmth of a soothing hug (preferably [teal]’s, but in a moment of weakness [plum] finds she would just as soon settle for [pink])
It is there that the Incubator finds her, and it’s such a parallel to the first time they met that [plum] can’t help but let out a bitter laugh.
“I can’t believe it,” she breathes, her grin sharp enough to cut as she glares at the creature seated in front of her, “After everything, and you still have the gall to come taunt me about it? You truly are a monster, Incubator.”
The monster who calls itself Kyubey tilts its head, “I am unsure what you are talking about, [plum]. I only came to warn you about your friend, [pink].”
[plum] scoffs, “What danger can she possibly pose to me now? I have already returned to hell of my own volition—nothing [pink] does can make my situation worse. Tell me, is [pink] coming to take revenge on me?”
[plum] thinks she will prefer that, instead of [pink] allowing her to walk away without a second word. At least her hatred will be proof enough that she cares.
The Incubator shakes its head. If it could emote, [plum] is pretty sure it would look at her like she is dumb. Whatever; not like she cares what it thinks of her. “Witches are magical girls changed by despair.” it says, “[pink]’s soul gem was already much darker than yours when you left. I cannot presume to tell you what to feel as I have no personal experience on the matter, but from the analysis of the data left by your predecessors, shouldn’t you be more concerned about how your friend is faring?”
The question knocks the breath from [plum]’s lungs. Right now, she hates [pink] with all the misplaced fury that once kept her alive before her Wish but will now literally poison her soul until she turns into a witch (a monster), but—
“She wouldn’t.” [plum] spits. Her denial sounds weak even to her own ears. “She wouldn’t waste teal’s sacrifice like that.”
The Incubator tilts its head, red eyes unblinking as it stares into her blackening soul. “You have never been a stupid girl, [plum].”
[plum]’s vision burns red. “Get out of my alley.” she hisses. And when the Incubator doesn’t seem inclined to move, she allows purple magic to envelop her, until she is standing in her magical girl dress with a flamethrower pointed at Kyubey and the safety clicked off. “Get out!”
The Incubator shifts to its four legs. “It would be prudent to consider my advice.” it says, before turning to stride measuredly towards the alley’s exit.
Blessedly alone, [plum] drops her transformation to conserve her strength. She rubs her ring with a scowl, the crystal embedded within a murky purple.
[plum] wishes she can ignore Kyubey’s words—she has more important things to worry about than a traitor, after all—but…
The worse thing is, the Incubator is right.
And [plum] is not stupid.
[pink] can rot for all she cares. [plum] wishes [pink] will rot, with a sadistic rage fuelled by emotions she doesn’t want to examine too closely. She hopes [pink] will get kicked out of the mansion, all her dreams destroyed by her own hand, left to huddle in a cold alleyway with nothing but faraway memories to keep her warm. [plum] wants [pink] to experience every ounce of suffering that was inflicted upon the innocent [plum] of once upon a time—for that has to be the meaning of justice, maybe then the cruel edges of [plum]’s soul may finally be sated.
But—[pink] isn’t allowed to die.
She isn’t allowed to waste [teal]’s sacrifice like this—to throw her life away and become a witch, not when [teal] worked to keep [pink]’s soul gem pure at the cost of her own life! [pink] isn’t allowed to leave this easily, to screw off to heaven or to hell and leave [plum] alone even more than she already is—for even as they have gone their separate ways at least they were suffering together. If [pink] is dead, [plum] can’t—she just can’t—
Screw this. [plum] jerks to her feet with a growl, brushing the dust from her clothes, and begins trekking back to the mansion she has forsworn.
There is a servant girl sweeping the front steps of the mansion when [plum] approaches. She stares as [plum] makes her presence known, then even more when [plum] begins to enquire after [pink].
“She left one day and never returned,” the girl says, frowning curiously at [plum]. “Did she not come to see you? Most of us thought she left to find you.”
[plum] swears under her breath. [pink] cared about her place in this mansion above anything else—even her friends. If she isn’t here, it can only mean…
[plum]’s heart twists painfully in her chest. She turns to leave. “I see.” she forces out, because [teal] would be so disappointed if she had no manners, but she cannot dally any longer. She has to recover what’s left of [pink]. “I’ll be going, then.”
“Are you leaving already?” the girl calls out behind her, “Aren’t you gonna at least stay to greet your parents? Your family is worried sick about you, you know.”
[plum]’s breath hitches. Her chest feels as if it is on fire. Her family is—
No. [plum] has cut her ties with her parents and brother for good reason.
“Good.” she grits, then turns away once more.
[plum] finds the entrance to the labyrinth in the alley behind an art studio.
The world within the labyrinth is a sickly shade of cotton-candy pink, splotches of watercolour staining the sky and ground like splashes of blood. The witch busies itself at a worktable folded from origami, the bodies of two man and a woman splayed over the workspace. A diagonal gash runs across the abdomen of each human, from which the witch extracts their intestines to knit into a long bloody scarf.
[plum] has seen worse—[plum] has seen worse. She repeats these words like a mantra, even as the blank eyes of the witch’s victims bore accusingly into her soul.
Look at what you did, the dead seem to say, look at what your friend became because of you. You made her into a murderer.
(untrue. [pink]’s downfall was as much her own fault as it is [plum]’s.)
[plum] drags her gaze from the bodies to focus on [pink] the witch. It would do her no good to dwell on what-ifs here.
She manifests her flamethrower with a flicker of purple magic. It is a good thing origami paper is flammable.
(and if in the aftermath, she cradles a grief seed carved with paintbrushes and weeps, that is nobody’s business but her own.)
[plum] considers herself a practical person. Part of it is her born nature, but most of her pragmatism was nurtured during the years she lived on the streets. Sentimentality, she had soon discovered, is the death of survival.
And yet, even as her soul gem grows darker by the day, drained from keeping her body alive and her despair at bay, [plum] can’t bring herself to use the two soul gems she has at her disposal.
“What you are doing is not practical,” the Incubator scolds, as if [plum] doesn’t already know. “Your friends are long gone, why would you waste their sacrifice by purposefully shortening your own life?”
[plum]’s grip on the two soul gems tighten, holding onto them like a lifeline to the world beyond. She thought she has seen the worst this wretched world has to offer, but…the gall of that monster, to mock [teal] and [pink]’s deaths as if it wasn’t the one who killed them—her throat constricts, sheer hatred burning the oxygen from her lungs. She hadn’t thought it possible to feel fury more than she already did, but—
the worst thing was that it was right. [teal] would never want this for her—she would want [plum] to live long and healthy and happy. But this was par for the course, really. Isn’t everything [plum] does pointless?
“Screw you,” [plum] snarls, expelling magic she does not have to summon her flamethrower. A promising click as she unlocks the safety, then the bone-white of the Incubator turns a beautiful golden brown as she shoots a plume of flames at the thing.
It doesn’t scream even as [plum]’s hungry flames gnaw the meat from its bones. “I simply don’t understand how humans can be so irrational,” it comments blandly, moments before the fire eats through the muscles of the Incubator’s jaws.
The fire rages until not even ashes are left of the Incubator. [plum] is left blessedly alone, with nothing but a scorched alleyway and two soul gems for company. But her victory is hollow—what is the point of revenge against a creature that feels neither pain nor regret?
She falls asleep huddled between two garbage bags for warmth, clutching all that remains of her family friends to her chest. [plum]’s body does not wake up again.
the Pyre Witch is born cusping two unused soul gems in its palms.
it immolates itself on an eternal pyre of purple flames, accompanied by nothing but the corpses of its only family. incinerating everything it touches, it punishes and protects itself by never allowing anybody close.
but shrouded deep within the flames is a cold, ashen core—which it secretly wishes a kind, warm soul would touch. for only when it is touched by love and hope that it will allow its raging flames to be put out—only then will it allow itself to find peace.
[plum] wakes up lying upon a carpet of iridescent clouds, with [pink] kneeling next to her. The grey-haired girl averts her eyes, her fingers tangled in the pink fabric of her magical girl dress.
Ah, I’m dead. [plum] realises, moments before memories rush into her head. (two sets of them, of a lifetime in a world of witches and another in a world of wraiths) (though for some reason her memory of the former lifetime is that much sharper) (is it because this is the original version of her life?)
She can’t help the bitterness that bubbles within her—so much changed between those two lifetimes, and yet, nothing at all. [pink] still shut herself away, [teal] still left because of [pink]—and [plum]…
[plum] still died bitter and alone.
With that thought, rage drains out of [plum], leaving her exhausted. How can someone feel so tired even when they’re dead?
(everything she suffered and made others suffered—being pushed away and pushing away in return—it all seems so pointless, in death)
(what has she lived her life for?)
[pink] politely waits until [plum] has finished processing the two contradictory sets of memories. She takes a deep breath, knuckles white from the stress of her grip on her apron. “I’m sorry.”
[plum] swallows. She averts her eyes, “Me too.” and then, “I tried to find you, after…afterwards. I couldn’t—” the words stick on the back of her tongue. They taste like the ash her witch leaves in its wake. “I defeated your witch.”
“I know.” [pink] replies quietly. A moment of hesitation, so slight [plum] almost misses it, “Thank you.”
Thank you for what, [plum] almost bites, but she holds her tongue.
It might be thank you for trying, or thank you for defeating my witch, or thank you for returning even after you left.
Or, it might be all of the above.
[plum] doesn’t acknowledge [pink]’s gratitude. She still isn’t sure if she can forgive [pink], but…she wants to let go.
They’re dead. The bitterness [plum] wielded like a double-edged knife, (the bite of the outer edge guarding [plum]’s heart from harm, and the sting of the inner edge keeping [plum] warm at night), what purpose does such a thing serve in heaven? Can’t [plum] discard her despair and regrets on the mortal realm, allow them to die alongside her human body? A new life after death—a rebirth of sorts—is it too late to start over anew?
(she didn’t realise she had become fuelled by rage and grief until the emotions drained from her like oil from a tank) (what is she without her fury?) (is it too late to find a new purpose in her unlife?)
“Come on,” [plum] says instead. She stands up, offering her hand for [pink] to do the same. “Let’s go find [teal].”
[pink] blinks at [plum]’s hand, recognizing it for the peace offering it is. A hint of a smile graces her lips, and then—
[pink] takes the offered hand.
Between one step and the next, ephemeral clouds shift into solid soil. The grass field [pink] brings [plum] to spreads out for miles, broken only by a cluster of trees that—
Looks suspiciously familiar.
[plum] narrows her eyes, “Is that…”
“[plum]!” a painfully familiar voice calls from behind the trees.
[plum] swallows. With her heart thudding painfully in her chest, she steps forward, passing through a gap between tree trunks into—
A meadow, scorched in places with bald spots among the grass, like a child’s favourite blanket of green worn thin by love. [plum] remembers putting most of those scorches there, during the countless hours they spent in this meadow, hidden from the horrors of the world.
And in the centre of the meadow, a blonde girl with beautiful teal eyes.
[plum] makes a sound like the cross between a whine and a keen. [teal] raises her hand in greeting, a watery smile on her face—but how can that be enough, after everything that transpired between them?
[plum] doesn’t even realise she’s doing it—but then she is leaping across the meadow with a lightness not having a physical body lends to, right into [teal]’s warm embrace. [teal] startles, making [plum] begin to pull back, only for [teal] to wrap her arms around [plum]’s waist and pull her deeper into the hug.
“I missed you,” [plum] whispers into [teal]’s shoulder, a thousand unsaid words tucked securely behind those three.
[teal] giggles. “I know.” a pause, “I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did.”
“I know.” [plum] replies, swallowing the lump in her throat at hearing [teal]’s apology.
“And for not being there to greet you when you arrived just now—I wanted to give you and [pink] a chance to talk things out first. And also for that time we—”
“[teal], I know. You can shut up now.” [plum] says, snorting at [teal]’s responding yelp. She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of morning dew that seems to permanently waft off [teal]. Feels the warmth between her arms, and finally find it in herself to let go. “So how has heaven been treating you?”
[teal] smiles. As if sensing [plum] has reached her quota for speaking about emotions today, she graciously begins blabbering about how her Afterlife has been. Seeing that their reunion is over, [pink] finally makes her way into the meadow, smiling at [teal]’s words.
“Did you know some of my great-grandrelatives were magical girls too?” [teal] giggles, “We met the other day. We should get you to meet them soon! They’d love you, I think.”
“How about your mentor?” [plum] asks, because she hasn’t forgotten the melancholic manner [teal] spoke of the sole friend she had before [plum] came into her life. “Have you seen her yet?”
“She isn’t here.” [teal] smiles, sad but tentatively hopeful. “We think she’s still alive.”
And I hope I don’t find her here for decades to come, [teal] doesn’t say.
[teal] is too selfless for her own good.
“Good for her,” [plum] murmurs. Is it strange to dislike someone she never met? But she does—she cannot forgive that magical girl for the slight of leaving [teal]. “But I’m here now, [teal]. The three of us can remain together for the rest of eternity.”
Then, the Devil carves the Goddess from the heavens with a blade made from her own love. A rift forms as she rips the Law of Cycles asunder in her desperation to get to her beloved, and the magical girls unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire tumble down—
—through the bleeding gash in reality—
—across universes—
—into the vessels of babies barely born, their bodies not yet attached to souls—
—and one of these magical girls happen to be [pink].
“Okay,” [teal] says, “I know this is bad, but it isn’t the end of the world.”
“Of course not,” [plum] scoffs, “That would the Devil creating a labyrinth so large it might as well be a parallel universe—oh wait, that already happened.”
[teal] winces, and [plum] immediately feels bad. “Sorry,” she mutters, “it’s just…”
[teal]’s expression softens further. She squeezes [plum]’s hand, “It isn’t [pink]’s fault. Besides, this is just temporary. Once the Goddess returns, she can collect [pink]’s soul, and everything will return to the way things should be. Until then, we can watch over [pink] through the rift. How does that sound?”
But [plum] can barely process [teal]’s words past the first sentence.
“I know.” [plum] grits her teeth. “I know it isn’t [pink]’s fault, but—”
(but it wasn’t [pink]’s fault last time as well, not really, no matter how [plum] tried to pin every mistake the three of them made on [pink] alone)
(but logic can only get [plum] so far, when her heart is once again screaming BETRAYAL, and didn’t she already cauterise this rotting corner of her heart?)
But—but—this is heaven, the eternal happiness that awaits all magical girls. They’re supposed to be safe here, this isn’t supposed to happen—[pink] isn’t supposed to leave again—not when she promised—
[teal] whispers [plum]’s name quietly. She rubs her thumb along the curve of [plum]’s cheek, wiping the moisture from her face, and—
Oh. When did [plum] begin to cry?
Against [plum]’s best efforts, she isn’t allowed to jump through that gash in reality to be reborn alongside [pink]. For one, the magical girl council, established to keep heaven from collapsing in the Goddess’ absence, managed to quarantine the abrasion—to prevent this exact event from happening. (the barrier the council erects around the tear reminds [plum] slightly too much of the boundaries of a labyrinth, but then, they are all at least part witch in this heaven of magical girls.)
But [plum] would’ve found some way to circumvent the labyrinthian barrier if she had to. The main reason [plum] stays her hand is that she might not end up in [pink]’s new universe, even if she succeeds in jumping through the rip into the body of a newborn infant. [pink] isn’t the only one unlucky enough to be sucked through that tear in reality, but due to some quirk of the cosmic meta-geography, the ill-fated magical girls all ended up in different worlds.
In the end, it’s [teal] who marches up to the edge of the barrier and plants herself there, refusing to leave. Of course [plum] joins her, to watch over [pink] even when they cannot assist her physically. The magical girls on the council have enough sense not to bother them after a single customary missive to request their departure.
Time passes as quickly and slowly as one requires in this timeless eternity. [plum] watches as [pink] grows from a red-faced baby to a healthy girl. The reborn [pink] is the sole daughter of two bakers, and though they aren’t as wealthy as [teal] used to be, this [pink] has never known hunger nor scorn. She gets to attend school in this world, and becomes childhood friends with two kids who are as different as possible from [teal] and [plum]. She falls in love with one of her classmates’ twin brother, gets her heart broken by him, then walks it off as easily as a teenager with no imposter syndrome or abandonment issues.
[plum] isn’t jealous of [pink]—she’s not. Being accidentally kicked out of heaven is not something people can get jealous of, even if [pink] is living the near-perfect childhood neither of them dared to dream of.
She just. “I wish I could’ve had this too.” [plum] murmurs, and realises too late she’s spoken out aloud.
[teal] turns away from the rift—from the image of [pink]’s crestfallen face, forlornly cradling a love letter to her chest, after being gently let down by that boy she has a crush on. (older, with black hair dyed teal, and why can [plum] so easily imagine herself and [teal] in their stead?)
“You wish you could’ve what?” her lips twitch upwards, gently teasing, “Have your heart broken by a boy?”
[plum] nods, shakes her head, and then shrugs. “I mean—normal teenager experiences. We used to hang out in town together, but it’s still not…” she makes a face, “I wanted…” she gestures vaguely, unsure (and slightly terrified) of the depths of desire that now exist within her. “Watching [pink] grow up, it made me realise…how much we missed out on.” [plum] worries her lips. Voicing such a regret is stupid and pointless, but she can’t help… “If only we had more time. To experience such things together.”
[teal]’s eyes light up, “We have time now.” she says, leaning forward, “Who says we can’t experience such things, even in heaven?”
“What are you suggesting?” [plum] asks, turning towards [teal]. She immediately blinks; since when was [teal]’s face this close to her own?
“This,” [teal] whispers, her breath dancing across [plum]’s mouth, and surges forward to seal [plum]’s lips against her own.
The resulting kiss is wet and sloppy and entirely instinctive. [plum]’s only knowledge of physical intimacy comes from couples in alleyways performing acts not fit for public pursuit, while [plum] hid behind garbage bags doing her best to pretend she didn’t exist, which isn’t exactly good reference material. She has no idea if the kiss is good, or only alright, or actively bad—but then [teal] begins laughing against her lips, fingers tangling in the frills of [plum]’s flamenco as she drags [plum] to the ground, and [plum] decides she’s probably fine.
Besides, they have the rest of eternity to figure things out—or until the Goddess and Devil figure out their relationship, whichever comes first.
Everyone knows [plum] and [teal] are inseparable.
(just as everyone knows there used to be three of them, but then everyone knows you don’t mention how the pink one fell from heaven unless you want [plum] to pull out her flamethrower)
Hence, approximately nobody is surprised when their emotional intimacy escalates into something physical. Just as nobody is surprised when the same happens to other magical girls, some of whom weren’t even from the same time period in life.
Took you long enough, seems to be the sentiment among [plum] and [teal]’s contemporaries.
Oriko (who is famous for attempting and mostly succeeding to murder the Goddess) takes the time to pause when she happens by the metaphysical space they usually reside. She smiles knowingly, tilting her head in greeting. “Hmm. You’re late.” she says, the only words the three of them ever exchange, and then returns to the corner of heaven she carved out for Kirika and herself.
(turns out when you have a plane of reality inhabited by magical girls, most of whom also identify as girls, you end up with a lot of sapphic couples)
(as La Maupin likes to say, just don’t start an orgy or insult Tart’s sensibilities, and you’ll be fine.)
The Goddess returns with the Devil in tow.
“This is my Queen Consort, Akemi Homura.” the Goddess announces. Approximately nobody with eyes is surprised.
The general sentiment appears to be, took you long enough. Now can we get back to repairing that giant hole in reality? It’s becoming a pain to travel around the not-labyrinth barrier every time we want to go somewhere.
The Goddess and her now-Consort set to work returning order to the heavens. Their first duty is to recollect the souls of the wayward magical girls.
When the first magical girl tells the Goddess she cannot bear to leave behind her newly-wed husband, all of heaven draws a collective breath. But then it keeps happening—
(“I’m sorry,” the girl signs with clumsy hands, her coordination stolen in the same attack that took her voice and most of her family. Her jaw clenches around her muzzle, as if in preparation to battle the two deities for her right to stay, “But I am all my onii-chan has left now. I will not leave him.”)
Again—
(“I’m not leaving.” the boy’s cyan eyes flash green protectively. He clenches his fists, and a hint of molten neon green builds in his veins. “I have an entire town to Protect. Either you’ll let me stay, or I’ll make you.”)
And again—
(“Harr? Why would I leave?” the boy scowls, crimson eyes narrowing. Embers of flames spark across his knuckles as he glares at Goddess and Devil alike, “Are you trying to make me leave? My life is here, not on that fucking sterile plane of existence—”)
Some of the magical girls gracefully accept the Goddess’ assistance, of course. But for most of them…
They’ve settled into their new bodies—their stolen lives. These once-magical girls simply don’t want to leave their second third chance behind, and the Goddess is far too kind to forcefully extract their souls for a fictitious sense of cosmic order.
With every magical girl that the Goddess (fails to) collect, [plum]’s heart sinks further.
(she should prepare for the eventuality and she knows it) (that this is the time she loses [pink] forever) (but d̶̛̛͎̫̭̹̘͎̭̘̓̉̍ê̷̫̩̇̾͆̃n̶͈͐̾́̚͘i̷̝̖̪͉̞͚̬̣̐̐̔̏̓̉̕a̸̛̳͎̽̃͑́̑l̶̢̼̲̥͚̔̾͒̔̿̕͠ is a parasite that nestles deep in her heart) (in the same space h̵̞̠͝͝ü̸̼̰̞͘r̸̙̿͂t̸͈͗ ̶̮̬͘̕/̶̡͓͕̊͛̚ ̴̡̣̙̿l̵̩̒͛͝õ̵̜̯͛n̷̙͝e̵͇͑ĺ̸͎̲̚ì̷̬̑n̴͍͖͙̒e̵̙̓̄̿s̸͎͑͝s̷͖̼͙̈́̎̂ ̸͇͖̤̑/̸̩̓̾̚ ̵̫̖̲̃͂r̷̬̉̋̚ͅa̶̰͝ģ̸̈́͛e̷̟̋ used to reside)
And when it becomes [pink]’s turn to be visited by the Goddess, nobody is surprised that she turns down the offer.
(doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt hurt hurt) (under her love for [pink] festers a b̴͇͕͙͋̏̆o̸͚̚n̴̨͕͚̔̌͝ė̶͉̉̃-̷̠͆̅d̷̠͈̫͋̉ë̶̙͇̇͝ę̷̱̂̃̒͜p̶̖͓̙̆͊ ̴͕̯̀̋̚r̷̠̖͇͆è̸̘̻͠s̶͈̼̓e̸͚̮͙͊n̷̬̥͝t̶̢͑̐m̶͖̞̏̇ȩ̸̧̘͒n̶̜̻͊ẗ̷̰̝́ but didn’t she abandon the hurt in her mortal body already ?)
“She’s happy there.” [teal] notes softly, leaning against [plum] shoulder. Through the rip, they watch [pink] roll dough into croissants with her parents. “She deserves this.”
[plum]’s jaws ache from how hard she has been clenching her teeth. It takes conscious effort to open her mouth and say, “I know. It’s just…”
(finally, something got [pink] to stay) (but what does it matter when the people [pink] chooses to stay with is not [plum]?)
[teal] entwines her fingers between [plum]’s, squeezing [plum]’s palm. She raises their enjoined hands to her lips, and—not lifting her head from its resting place—presses a gentle kiss to [plum]’s knuckles.
[pink] might be gone, [teal] doesn’t say, but I am still here. Don’t forget it.
[plum] inhales sharply. The scent of morning dew that wafts from [teal]’s hair is as real as their bodies in this astral plane—that is to say, they’re only as real as [plum] believes they are. Still, [plum] inhales [teal]’s scent, feels the weight of [teal]’s head upon her shoulder and the softness of [teal]’s lips across her knuckles, and feels momentarily grounded.
How long has it been since [plum] reunited with [pink] and [teal]? Time is meaningless in eternity, but [plum] knows she has gained much more time with her friends (and now-girlfriend) than she ever thought she could be entitled to.
[pink] is happy in her new life—but isn’t [plum] as well? [pink] has gained attentive parents, a happy childhood, a kind start in life—but now, [plum] is closer to [teal] than she ever thought possible. Emotions that she didn’t dare address in either timelines of her life, has now blossomed into a romance in spite of [pink]’s absence—or perhaps because of it.
[pink] is happy down there, [plum] thinks, but I am happy up here, and so is [teal].
(besides, it would be so awkward if [pink] returned, only to find herself a third wheel for the rest of eternity)
In the end, it is easier to let go of [pink] than she thought.
[plum] shifts, pulling [teal] up by their entwined hands. “You’re right,” she smiles, and despite her trepidation the smile feels genuine. “[pink]’s happy there, and I am glad for her. Let’s go, to our own happiness.”
[teal] peers at [plum] with intuitive eyes. Satisfied with what she sees, [teal] nods. “Let’s,” she agrees.
[plum] turns away from the rift, and—for the first time in her many lives—leaves without looking back.